Heart Shaped Patches
by iheartjackie
Summary: Many think he'd lost his eye in a battle or a hunt—those many would be wrong, but he wouldn't, *couldn't* correct them.
1. Chapter 1

**Heart Shaped Patches**

Summary: Many think he'd lost his eye in a battle or a hunt—those many would be wrong, but he wouldn't, *couldn't* correct them. Contains mild language and GORE.

Disclaimer: You know, I _do_ own this. I own _every single piece of it_. I own Alice, I own the Cheshire Cat, the March Hare and the Mad Hatter, I even own Lewis Carroll, Tim Burton and Johnny Depp's SOULS. I'm just having a charitable moment in giving you something for free.

You're _welcome_.

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><p><span>Chapter One: Sticks and Squirrels Can Poke and Hurl<span>

The cool air was thick with cotton-like fog, making the hibernating forest gray and ghost-like; dark, twisted branches like bony fingers clawed their way through the mist, and with the lack of creatures and forest noises, it was an eerie and menacing scene to say the least. Still, as a young man of twelve must do, Ilosovic Stayne went out to chop wood for the fire, as requested from his mother.

He walked with the heavy axe upon his shoulder, the cold of the handle seeping through his clothes and into his bony shoulders, to a nearby man-made clearing of moist, blacken stumps. During his short jaunt, he stumbled, tripped, and even fell flat on his face at least twice each, cursing his newly acquired height he had gained during his last growth spurt. It was getting ridiculous! Sure, both his mother and father were tall, and so were their parents and so on, but he was sure as shukm stank that none of them were taller than their father at his age! And the ganglingness was getting on his nerves: being awkwardly tall and beanpole thin didn't help with these girl things he was warming-up to the idea of, especially when he had to practically touch his toes to try to kiss them. (Not that they wanted to kiss the "Giant Stick-Boy" voluntarily.)

He looked around and found a tree to chop—not too thick, not too thin, and it was amazingly dry compared to the other woods around it. With a satisfied nod, he raised his axe, stumbling from the sudden shift of weight, and began to ready himself for his first strike. Ilosovic prepared similarly to a baseball player, testing the wood in his hand, taking a few practice swings (some so close to his face he startled himself), before he began to raise the tool—

A bright-orange, possibly rabid, squirrel flung itself from the knothole in the very tree he was about to cut down and landed squarely on his face.

"WHA TH'ELL ARE YA DOIN'?" it screamed in a thick Cockney accent. "GE' AWAY FROM ME TREE!"

Ilosovic replied, as calmly as he could, "AAAAAAAAAAARGH! MY FACE! GET OFF MY FACE!"

Their skirmish was short, hasty and bloody, and ended as soon as the boy pulled the (probably) Lyme disease ridden rodent off his face and flung it as hard as he could at a near by tree. He cupped his face, feeling the slight trickle of blood between his left hand fingers; his fingers gingerly explored the newly made wounds along his eye (and general left-side of his face). There were two rather nasty feeling gashes, one leading from the right side of his forehead to his left jaw, the other a deep, short, and across his eyebrow.

"You flea-bitten vermin!" he screamed at the unconscious ball of fur at the roots of the tree. "You nearly blinded me! I hope I killed you when I threw you or so help me you'll wish it so!" He spat at the squirrel, missing by a ways, but Ilosovic didn't care. He turned—

"BLOODY BADGER—FRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!"

A small twig poked him quite hard in the eye. He yelled, yelped, and whimpered, feeling a new ooze drip from his face. He couldn't quite bring himself to remove his hands from his eye, not wanting to confirm what he already knew.

Just as he gave a pathetic, jittery whimper, the squirrel jumped unto his back.

"I WISH T'BE DEAD? YOU'LL WISH T'BE DEAD!" It pulled and clawed at the boy's scalp and neck, creating more gashes, deep and painful. Ilosovic just screamed and ran as fast as his lanky legs could, though he only took a few steps before running into another tree, knocking his head hard on a protruding branch and falling backwards onto the squirrel, officially squishing the poor beast.

It was two hours later when his visiting cousin was sent to find him, unconscious, bloody, a dead squirrel under his head and in a pair of pissed trousers.

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><p>SHUKM: TB Outlandish for "to excrete, excrement" (AiW Wiki)<p>

_This_ may_ continue as I do have other chapters written-BUT I still have a couple to go. Give me a week or two and if I happen to finish the story, I'll post the next chapter. Depends on if I can frikkin figure out how to_ write_ again. *mumble grumble*_


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter: I've got two more chapters after this already written but I'm struggling on the last three chapters so it may be a while still.

Anyway, enjoy. :)

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><p><span>Chapter Two: Slender Man and the Mount<span>

Some would ask him.

Others would avoid him.

Many would stare at him.

A rare and stupid few would point and ask, "What the hell is wrong with your _eye_?"

But all who have encountered Ilosovic Stayne were curious about the crisscross scar and dead, milky eye in his left socket. He wouldn't tell them, though. He would never tell them. The street cred he'd gain from having that badass scar would completely disappear if they knew what had really happen. As he would say to those who asked:

"It's a long, disturbing story."

"Did you get it while hunting?" some young boys and men would ask. "Did a stag get you in the eye?"

Ilosovic would shake his head. "I wouldn't want to disgust you with the truth."

"Were you defending your herds?" some young girls and women would ask. "Was there a land snark or rabid tove?"

"I couldn't tell you the gory details," he would respond. "Much too graphic."

The mystery that surrounded his eye made him quite popular. Without his eye, he would have never been asked to hunt with the elder men of his village; he would have never become the attention of the women (and some men) folk; and he would never have gotten his job protecting the delivery wagon that went to and from the kingdom.

Ilosovic sat, legs crossed, near the goods on the cart, his old, dull, notched iron sword drawn in his hands, scanning the bushes and trees for any robbers or animals that would raid the supply of cheeses and fermenting curds. While the bounty he protected didn't sound valuable, you must factor in the quality: the village's cheese was not just praised to be the best in the shire or kingdom but rather Underland in its entirety. Happy, fat cows, sweet grasses and mountains of attention to the small herds were credited towards the creation. Plus they were molded into the shapes of cats, rabbits and fishes! Who would want to eat plain rounded cheese when they could eat a halibut of Gouda?

Honestly.

Ilosovic shined his sword with his breath and tattered sleeve. "Are you _done_ yet?" he shouted over his shoulder.

The bushes shook before a thin, sickly-looking man emerged. He muttered something under his breath before he climbed into the cart and grabbed the horse's reins.

"You should get that checked out," the horse replied to the man's mutterings. "I had a cousin who started to piss blood when _that_ happened."

"Shurt up yer mickle scut an driv!" He shook the reins so quick and hard they sounded like whips.

The horse began to trot. "Geesh, just trying to _help_. I'll try to do _less_ of it if you _don't_ like it."

Ilosovic snorted. It could quite entertaining guarding the cheesemonger's wagon when the horse started in. The creature had a blatant way of saying things; sure, he could be more subtle sometimes ("Nice scar," the horse said when he first saw Ilosovic. "Did a _ferret_ get at your face?") but it was rather refreshing how he didn't dance around things like most are wont to do.

The cart was rickety, hitting several bumps and divots along the path. If hard wood and splinters in your ass was fun, they were having the time of their lives.

The cart stopped. "Hold et. Be back." The driver hopped from his seat.

The horse stomped his hoof. "The cheese won't arrive by next _Wednesday_ if he stops _every twenty paces_!" He shook his mane with indigent patience.

Ilosovic silently agreed looking to the sky's dusky purples and blues. He stretched out his leg out, letting them dangle—well, not dangle, but lay on the ground. He wiggled his bare toes and scratched his naked calves. (Unable to pay for the fabric and materials needed for proper shoes and pants, he had to make due with bare feet and his late-father's let out pants.) Maybe one day he'd be able to get some brogues…or a pair of boots. He flicked a rock with his large toe. A pair of boots would be extravagant but how he would _love_ a pair.

Behind on his left, leaves rustled in the trees. His grip tightened on the sword. The driver went to the bushes on his right.

"_Raiders_!" the horse cried. "_Robbers! Vandals! Yobbos_!" He reared and stomped, neighing as he went.

A rather nasty looking group of ruffians stalked out of the woods, short wavy blades drawn. All were so ragged and dirty, if the height distance weren't so great, you wouldn't be able to distinguish cat from rat from human.

The rabbit, a ragamuffin at best with his shortness, pointed his trembling tarnished knife at the horse. It managed to squeak, "Don' ye make a sown! Or Y'll gut yer from head t'hoof!"

The horse whinnied from fright. "_Nevin_! You _cauda_! Do _something_!"

Ilosovic stood, towering over the cart and all around it. (An exception was the trees and horse, of course.)

The rabbit shook in its tattered clothes before leaving a large, dark puddle around its feet and a trail as it ran, screaming all the while, "Erlking! Erlking!" In fact, all the hooligans but a dirty sneering rat left screaming bloody murder.

The greasy creature was quite intimidating for its size, dark brown fur with a slimy sheen, black, bottomless eyes and a half-eaten ear. It snarled in a venom-filled (if shrill) voice, "I ain't afraid of no Erlking! Commere so I can poke ya eyes out!"

Ilosovic took two steps stopping above the rat. He bent himself far enough to growl into the face of the rodent, baring his teeth with a wolfish roar. His eyes, one full of vicious, dark light and the other white and spiritless, bore down upon the creature with evil intent. The rat promptly fell backwards, fainting from fright.

"Good work!" The horse shook his shoulders. "Now where the _hell_ is Nevin?"

Ilosovic walked to the bushes, using his sword to poke through them. He looked deep along the right side of the road before switching to the left. "The hell? He's gone!"

"Pfff, _figures_. We need to go. It'll be our head if the cheeses are delayed. The cowardly twit would probably _still_ get paid, too." He began to pull the cart at a steady pace. Ilosovic reduced his stride to keep pace. "The only thing I regret is not getting to see his _face_ once he finds the cart _gone_."

The human laughed. "Agreed!" He turned to the horse: he was a great steed, with shinning coal fur. He was handsomely proportioned for his height, around twenty hands high (just a head taller than himself), head erect, and strong muscled. A finer horse Ilosovic had yet to see. "What is your name?"

The horse shook his head slightly. "My name is Vache Pullian. Yours?"

"Ilosovic Stayne."

"Er…I'll just call you Stayne. Illososovac is a _mouthful_."

"Yes…I find that for the better."

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><p>LAND SNARK: From <span>The Hunting of the Snark<span> by Lewis Carroll; American McGee's Alice portrayed snarks as fishes, thus "land snark" (presumably, Stayne grew up in a land-locked town)

TOVE: Humpty Dumpty in Through the Looking and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll states it is a sort of "green pig" (and this is the version in the movie); Lewis Carroll himself notes, however "a species of badger, with smooth, white hair, long hind legs, and short stag-like horns; they live chiefly on cheese" (to paraphrase) ()

MICKLE: "heavy", Scottish for "much, abundant" (Ye Fattale Cheyse by Lewis Carroll, Encarta Dictionary)

SCUT: TB Outlandish for "buttocks" (AiW Wiki)

YOBBOS: also "yob"; hooligans (Encarta Dictionary)

NEVIN: Irish surname transferred to forename use, from an Anglicized form of either Gaelic Cnámhín, a byname for a skinny man meaning "little bone," or from Gaelic Naomhán, meaning "little saint." ()

CAUDA: The origin of "coward", meaning "tail"; probably being the same as in "to turn tail" or "run away with your tail between your legs." (Encarta Dictionary)

ERLKING: German legend, the "Alder King", haunts the forest and steals travelers at night and kills them (it was either this or Slender Man, which Stayne reminds me a lot of) (Wikipedia)

HANDS: Hands is the measurement of horse height, one hand equaling four inches or 10.2 centimeters. Vache is twenty hands, approximately 6.6 ft or 2.011 meters, making Stayne 6 feet or 1.83 meters tall. Considering the average height of a man in the century this chapter is in is 5.5 feet or 1.68 meters and that Stayne is not fully-grown, he's a _big_ boy. (Encarta Dictionary)

VACHE: Armenian name derived from a word for "a cart used by Nomads." ()

PULLIAN: Old English meaning "to pluck"; origin of "pull." (Encarta Dictionary)


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